


War Stories

by Sir_Bedevere



Category: Hadestown - Mitchell
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Dreams and Nightmares, Drinking & Talking, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Mythology References, Post-Canon, Post-War, Pre-Canon, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:40:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23610940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sir_Bedevere/pseuds/Sir_Bedevere
Summary: “It’s a metaphor,” Persephone said, with all the assurance that came with being half grown. “Ma says the old stories ain’t real.”Four times Persephone heard a war story about her husband, and one time Hades (finally) told her one.
Relationships: Hades/Persephone (Hadestown)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 115





	1. Uncle Pozzy

**Author's Note:**

> And we are back with Hadestown - been thinking about this one for a while :)
> 
> I'm having fun trying to fit the war with the Titans into the magical realism of the Hadestown universe. I like to play fast and loose with the mythology, but hopefully not so much that it will annoy anyone ;)

Before Aran came along, when Uncle Pozzy was trying to get in Ma’s good books, he’d come tell Persephone bedtime stories. 

He was a big man just like Pa was, and he would carry her up to bed on his back, then tuck her in real tender. When she was all snug in her bed, he’d sit on the floor, weaving such tales that for a while Persephone used to pretend that he was her pa and not just her uncle. Tales about seafoam horses and mermaids and fish so big they could swallow even a god down whole. Persephone used to dream about riding a seafoam horse, and sobbed real bitter the day Ma told her that Uncle Pozzy talked real sweet but didn’t have half the power he pretended to have. 

Then Aran came along, a squealing babe born from the swell of Ma’s stomach, and she just let Uncle Pozzy take him home, wrapped up in an old blanket that smelled like the garden.

“Plenty of nymphs to nurse him,” Ma said when Persephone asked, and she shrugged her shoulders. “And he’ll only end up longing for the sea if he stays here. Salt in his veins, just like his pa. You’re all I need, my sunshine girl.”

Uncle Pozzy would come back sometimes, when he was looking for company, and Persephone never minded. She minded even less that he would bring Aran along. Ma liked the little one well enough and she was kind to him too, although not maternal. More like he was a stray dog and she deigned to pat his head and feed him scraps. From Ma though that was no bad thing. Persephone had seen her treat folks much worse. 

Persephone liked Aran too. She never told him he was her brother. He didn’t need to know. It was all too complicated as it was, who was a brother and who was a sister and who was a cousin and who was a half sibling and who liked who and who didn’t. But he was a sweet kid, if a bit bashful. Whenever they came to visit, Aran would sleep on the floor of Persephone’s room, but he always ended up crawling into her bed for a cuddle. His little head would fit just right under her chin, and his little hands would cling like a monkey to a branch, like he was afraid she’d be gone when he opened his eyes. 

Persephone was half grown by then, and too old for bedtime stories, but Uncle Pozzy would always come up to tell one to Aran. The stories for him weren’t about horses and mermaids.

“Do you know who holds up the sky, my boy?” Uncle Pozzy asked one evening. 

“No one holds up the sky,” Persephone said, flicking through a book. “It’s too big.”

Uncle Pozzy laughed, a dark rumbly laugh like a wave on a shore. 

“What do you know, kiddo?”

“It’s a metaphor,” Persephone said, with all the assurance that came with being half grown. “Ma says the old stories ain’t real.”

“Well, she would say that. Easier to forget that way.” Uncle Pozzy shrugged, smoothing Aran’s wild hair back from his forehead. Curly hair, just Persephone’s. Just like Ma’s. 

“Daddy,” Aran interrupted. “Who holds up the sky?”

“Atlas, the strongest Titan of them all.”

Persephone scoffed and turned her back to them, pulling the covers over her head.

“In the war, Atlas was the strongest Titan. He could throw rocks so big that no one else could even lift them. I once saw him blow a hole in the side of a mountain and use the boulders he made, cos the rocks weren’t big enough.”

“Was he big?” Aran asked. 

“A giant. Seven feet tall. Muscles like an ox pulling a plough. He’d got us cornered once, trapped up on Olympus with his filthy horde circling, and he’d surrounded us with the explosives he liked. It was gonna end there, or so we thought.”

Persephone heard Aran squeak. Her little brother was too sweet for stories like this. 

“You’re scarin’ him, Uncle Pozzy.”

“I’m not scared! How did you get away?”

“Beat him at his own game, in the end. Was your Uncle Hades’ idea. He got Prometheus to slip down the mountain, steal some of the charges. The horde couldn’t smell him cos he was a Titan by rights. And we blew Olympus up from the top rather than the bottom, buried the horde and rode the avalanche down to Atlas before he knew what had come down on his head. Took me and your uncles to dig him out but the bastard was still livin’. Me and Uncle Zeus pinned him down while Uncle Hades wrapped him in chains. Special ones the Cyclops’ made for us. Strong enough to hold him. That’s why we never been back to Olympus since, and Uncle Zeus lives on the ranch. Nothin’ left of it.”

“And now he holds up the sky? What if he drops it on us?”

“Ain’t no such thing!” Persephone growled, rolling over. Uncle Pozzy was smirkin’ at her. She’d seen that smirk on Pa before and she didn’t like it.

“Atlas is in Tartarus, just like the rest of ‘em,” she said. “If he was seven feet tall that ain’t even enough to touch the top of the trees. Stop telling him lies.”

“He can’t drop the sky on us,” Uncle Pozzy said, ignoring her and pressing a kiss to Aran’s forehead. “See how brave your cousin is with her ain’ts and her shouldn’t bes and her stop right nows? She’s an Olympian and ol’ Atlas has seen what the Olympians can do. He wouldn’t dare do anything to us. Not while we walk the world.”


	2. Hephaestus and Hermes

“Come on, Hephy,” Persephone giggled, reaching out her hand. “You can do it.”

“Can’t,” her cousin pouted, crossing his arms. “It’s too high.”

“Just leave him if he ain’t comin,” Hermes said, his head popping out from the treehouse window. “He’ll have to wait.”

“Nah, I can help him.”

Persephone climbed back down the ladder and landed beside her cousin. She could never bear to leave him behind when it wasn’t his fault. 

“I can’t do it, Sephy,” Hephaestus said, gazing up the wobbly rope ladder. “My leg-”

Persephone eyed his lame leg, his twisted foot. He kept up well enough when they were running around the ranch together, but going up was a problem.

“You can do it, Hephy,” she said, rubbing her hands together. “You’re real strong. I’ll come up after ya and make sure you don’t fall.”

“I dunno, it’s awful shaky.”

“Brother, I seen you pick up a car,” Hermes called down. “You’re stronger than any of us, huh?”

“And you can catch me if I fall?”

Persephone crossed her arms and nodded. He was just a little older than her but he was growin’ faster than a weed. And Hermes wasn’t wrong about his strength. Hephaestus had arms that were rivallin’ Uncle Pozzy’s. Still, Persephone had never said no to a challenge.

It was awkward and he had to take a break, but Hephaestus managed to haul himself up, hopping on his good leg. Hermes reached out to pull him up and Persephone pushed from behind and they all fell in a heap on the floor of the new treehouse. Pa had it put in for the littler kids to play with, but his three oldest didn’t see no reason not to have a look too. He never said they couldn’t.

“Be a lot easier if we could fly, huh?” Hermes panted. “Get Hephy round and about quicker.”

“I’m plenty quick,” Hephaestus said, sitting up and squeezing Persephone’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

“S’alright,” she said, looking about her. Some of the little ones had already been up here and got to the walls with their crayons, cos there were drawings all over. Probably the twins; Ma said they were half feral. Be just like ‘em to get a new thing and then go about wrecking it just cos they could. 

“Not very homey, is it?” she asked, getting up and examining the mess. “Can tell Hera ain’t had nothin’ to do with it.”

“Ma said Pa can do what he wants out here,” Hephy said. “But she ain’t gettin’ involved. Only thing Pa did was make sure they sanded it down for splinters before the kids got up here. Good of him, I say.”

“If we could fly, we could go anywhere, brother,” Hermes said, still stuck on his idea. “Away from the ranch whenever we wanted.”

“Ain’t nobody flying these days, Ma says,” Persephone said. 

“Used to though,” Hermes said, picking up one of the crayons that the twins had abandoned. He drew a little figure on a clean patch of wall. Then he put wings on it. “Remember, Hephy, what Pa said about Astraeus in the war? Him and his boys up in the air, rainin’ down unholy terror?”

Persephone knew that story, or at least part of it. She watched as Hermes drew four more winged people. Those were old Astraeus’ sons, the Titans of the four winds. In the war, Ma said they were some of the worst, with their fire bombin’ that could come out of nowhere if you weren’t watchin’ the skies above. 

“You’re wrong though,” she said, nodding at the drawings. “They didn’t have wings. Ma said they had little copters. Ain’t no such thing as flying folks.”

“Your Ma’s wrong,” Hermes said. “What about the harpies? Or the Pegasus?”

“You ever seen a harpy or a Pegasus?” 

“Nope. But Pa has.”

“Pa’s a goddamn liar.”

“It don’t matter,” Hephy interrupted. “But the stories about Astraeus, about when he firebombed the Ossa Forest and they had to save all the animals. They’re true, I reckon. Pa said that Uncle Hades and Auntie Hes chased all the creatures out before they could burn up. And him and Uncle Pozzy drew the Titans to the river and tried to crash ‘em into it.”

“I guess,” Persephone shrugged. “Ma said she and Aunt Hera weren’t around when that happened. Could have, I ‘spose.

Ma didn’t much like talking about the war and the things that she and her brothers and sisters had to do to get all the Titans locked up down below. Persephone only heard snips of stories, here and there, when Ma had a bit too much barley wine or Uncle Pozzy was around. He hadn’t been there as much lately, and when Persephone asked why, Ma just eyed her and said that she’d told him to stay away. 

Well, that made as much sense as anything. Ma thought Persephone didn’t know nothing about the world, but she wasn’t dumb. She knew that she was almost a woman grown now, and she knew what Uncle Pozzy was like. Weren’t many folks off limits in their family, and no mistake. That was just the way it had always been. 

“Reckon you could make us some copters, Hephy?” Hermes was asking when Persephone started listening to their nonsense again. “Must be a drawin’ of ‘em somewhere. Or we could get Pa drunk and get him to tell us what one looks like. What d’ya say?”

“Could try lookin’ at the books, I guess,” Hephaestus said, gazing at the drawings on the wall. Hermes had put in some little boxes around the flying figures, and put flame in their hands. “And can do it out in the workshop, Pa don’t need to know what we’re up to.”

Persephone shook her head.

“You two are crazy. How’re you gonna make an actual flyin’ copter?”

“Someone did once, Miss High and Mighty,” Hermes said. “And no one better than our Hephy at makin’ things with his own two hands. And when we do get one, you ain’t invited to fly in it.”

“Good. I’d rather spend a day listenin’ to Pa’s bullshit liar stories than tryin’ such a thing with you two dummies.”


	3. Prometheus

Hermes’ speakeasy could hardly be called Persephone’s favourite place, but if the other choice was nights at home with Ma tellin’ her all the reasons that Hades was lacking as a husband, the speakeasy would do. At least there was drink to be had, and plenty of it. And Hermes was far from the worst company. She’d always liked him best aside from Ma. 

It had been raining for days, a summer storm that just wasn’t breaking, and Persephone was soaked through by the time she stumbled through the door. Hermes didn’t need to glance up to know it was her, but he always did anyway.

“Keeps my hand in with the mortals, if I pretend that any one of ‘em can surprise me,” he said, when Persephone asked him about it. “Freaks ‘em out less.”

“Sister, ain’t you got a parasol at home?” he asked now, already reaching for the whisky bottle. “Catch your death out there.”

He smirked at his little joke, but Persephone didn’t bite. Never did to let him know he was under your skin or else you’d be in a war of words all night, if he felt like it. 

“What is Pa playin’ at with this storm, huh?” she asked, reaching for the glass he slid to her. “Hera been at him again, has she?”

“Don’t think so,” Hermes shrugged. “Just one of his little tempers, I guess. It will pass.”

“Not before he’s drowned half the fields if it keeps goin’ like this. Ma is spittin’ fire already that the crops will be ruined. S’like he’s tryin’ to piss her off.”

“Maybe he is. You know Pa and his flights of fancy.”

“Unfortunately.”

Hermes’ whisky always went down smooth. There was a fire burning in the grate to counter the unseasonable chill in the air, and Persephone wandered over to warm herself. It was quiet, too nasty out for the mortals to have made their usual way here, and the boy with the guitar that had been here lately was nowhere to be seen. So it was a shock when Persephone heard a voice from one of the old leather chairs in the corner. 

“Persephone, wife of Hades. I haven’t seen you for a long time, girl.”

She turned. Girl? If that didn’t put the icing on the cake of the shittiest day. Girl?

“Come into the light and call me that, huh?”

The shadow shifted and rose, up and up till he was taller than even Hades and gods dammit hadn’t she always _hated_ having to look up like she was lesser. Still, wouldn’t do to let him know she was surprised to see him. 

“Oh, it’s you. What’re you doin’ in these parts, Prometheus?”

She’d only met the Titan once, soon after Heracles had gone behind Pa’s back and released Prometheus from his capture. Caused a right kerfuffle that had. First time she’d seen Hades laughing for what felt like years, when he heard what had happened. And Pa had been ragin’. The storms had lasted longer than any she’d ever known, made today look like a gentle summer fall in comparison. Oh. 

“Does Pa know you’re about? Cos if this storm is your fault, you better move right along. Gonna wreck the crops if it keeps on goin’.”

“He doesn’t know I’m here. Just passing through. Your brother had a message for me. I’ll be on my way.”

Prometheus looked like a Titan, or at least what she reckoned one might look like. He was broad on the shoulders, broad on the face, broad on the hands. Uglier than a gods damn slab of rock. Taller than Hades, with a wild mane of hair just goin’ grey now. But he had a nice smile, and Ma spoke fondly of him, if she ever did. He gave the fire to the mortals, after all, and Ma’s whole thing was giving to them and keeping them safe. 

“Well if Pa don’t know you’re here, come and have a drink with me first, huh?” she said, waving her empty glass at him. “Awful weather out.”

It wasn’t the evening she was expecting to pass, but it was a fair pleasant one, in the end. No one came in and so the three of them propped up the bar and talked. Just talked, and it was nice to pass the time of day with someone older who didn’t treat her or Hermes like they were still wayward kids. 

“How is that husband of yours?” Prometheus asked, two bottles deep. “Still building his empire?”

“When’s he ever do anythin’ else?” Hermes said. 

Persephone shook her head. 

“Did he ever tell you I helped him build Tarturus?” Prometheus was still pressin’, like a finger on a bruise. “Me and the Cyclops anyway.”

“He don’t speak much about the war,” she said, hand tight around the bottle neck. She’d given up the pretence of a glass some time ago. “And I don’t ask.”

“Bloody big job that was. Had to do it fast too, cos they were catching and binding Titans left, right and centre. An eternal pit in the Underworld. What a concept.”

“Well, it’s still there,” she said, watching as the corners of Prometheus’ mouth curled up. “Can hear ‘em all screamin’ sometimes. You didn’t dig it deep enough.”

“Didn’t have time,” Prometheus shrugged. He put his glass down on the bar and stumbled to his feet. For a big son of a bitch, he didn’t hold his liquor nearly as easy as Persephone or Hermes could. She tried not to be smug about that. 

“Do you know what I always remember about working with your man and digging that hole?”

“Sure you’re gonna tell me.”

“He was never pleased with his work. Till the day we threw the last one in and closed the door, never cracked a smile. What kind of a man is that, huh? Like he was ashamed of it.”

“Ma said he was never happy ending up with the Down Below. ‘Spect he was imagining all the other stuff he could be doin’. Gods know that’s what he spends all his time doin’ now.”

“Maybe,” Prometheus tilted his head, and Persephone didn’t look in his eyes, because they were dark and deep and felt like they were drilling deep down under her skin. “Maybe he thought it was too bad a punishment for ‘em. Maybe he’s _soft_.”

She laughed, a brittle, cracked laugh. Her husband, soft. Prometheus really had gone mad on that damn rock. She thought about the Titans, screaming down in the pit, and how Hades never seemed to hear it. Even when it was so loud she thought she’d lose her own mind, he didn’t hear, insisted she was sayin’ it just to vex him.

Like - like he didn’t _want_ to.

Huh. 

“Reckon it’s time for you to go,” Hermes said suddenly, nodding at Prometheus, while Persephone sat stone still save for the fingertip she traced through the spilled drink. “Longer you hang about more likely Pa is to find ya.”


	4. Auntie Hes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is literally the reason I wrote this fic, I've had this little snippet in my head for a long time.

“Come on, sweetpea. Show me what you’ve been up to, huh?”

Auntie Hes didn’t drop by often. It was a real shame, cos she was one of the only people around that could shake the sour look on Ma’s face. Like right now, Ma was grinnin’ like a cat with the cream, and waving Persephone out the door.

“You go on,” Ma said. “Go and show your auntie the flower gardens.”

“Okay,” Persephone shrugged, shoving her feet into a pair of old boots and taking the sun hat Ma offered her. Ma’s hand was warm and she brushed the back of Persephone’s fingers, rough and soft all at once. That was Ma all over, that was. 

“I dunno what you do to her,” Persephone muttered, as they walked down the back garden path. “It’s like you put a spell on her or somethin’. She was cussin’ me out five minutes before you walked in.”

Auntie Hes laughed, and hooked her hand around Persephone’s elbow. Her skin wasn’t rough. She had never worked the earth. That wasn’t her thing, the goddess of the hearth. 

“Demi has always been my little sister, you know. That means somethin’, even for us.”

Goddess of the hearth. Goddess of the family. If anyone knew about that stuff, it was Auntie Hes.

They strolled out of the back gate and up into the hills. The flower gardens were tucked away in a valley. Grown all special, hidden away just for Persephone and her ma to enjoy, unless they took someone there. They gave so much to the mortals, year in, year out, cycle after cycle, after cycle. Ma said they deserved something of their own. It was one of the things Persephone agreed with her on. 

“Your ma doesn’t mean it, when she acts out at you,” Auntie Hes said suddenly. “I think you remind her of herself.”

“I ain’t as nasty as Ma. She can get real mean.”

“DIdn’t say that, did I?” Auntie Hes said, calm. She was always so calm, a voice like a stream in the summer. “But your ma is hurt. She’s been hurtin’ a long old time. And the more time goes by - well, I see it in you too, sweetpea. You’re hurtin’ a lot these days as well.”

“Keepin’ it in the family,” Persephone said, but there was no bite in it. She couldn’t lose her temper with her aunt. Especially not when she was right. 

The sun was low over the brow of the hill and they had to stop a minute for their eyes to get used to the light. Persephone pulled her hat down and walked ahead, back down the other side of the hill. Auntie Hes trod lightly behind her. 

“Your father broke Demi’s heart,” Auntie Hes said. “She never got over it. I don’t pretend to pick a side between my sisters but I must say, Hera should have known better. She should have. He’s - Zeus - well, he’s how he is. Hera and your ma should have stayed away.”

Persephone’s hands clenched and unclenched at her sides. Auntie Hes had never spoke like that before. Never said a bad word about anyone. It was skirtin’ dangerously close to something else. 

“I know Ma was ruined by him.” Persephone ground out from between her gritted teeth. “You really ain’t gotta tell me.”

“I know, sweetpea. I know.” 

Auntie Hes caught her up and hooked her little finger around Persephone’s. Not much of a touch but it stopped Persephone’s fist from clenching, and she felt her shoulders drop. They walked, joined together, down the rest of the hill and through the gate, into the garden. 

“Oh this is such a beautiful place,” Auntie Hes said, reaching out and delicately stroking the petals of the roses that wound around the gate. “You both do such a wonderful job on it.”

“Ma’s work mostly,” Persephone murmured. “I ain’t here to do the tending when it needs it most.” 

“Come and sit down with me. I get tired easy these days.”

“Yeah cos you’re ancient and crumbling for sure.”  
Auntie Hes laughed and flopped down on the grass. She tucked her skirt around her knees and slipped off her shoes. She was so delicate that Persephone could hardly believe sometimes she came from the same stock as the others did. Bones like fine china. And not a single one of her siblings ever messed with her, despite that. Or maybe it was because. 

Persephone kicked off her own boots and stretched out on the grass.

“I didn’t mean to upset you, when I said you were like your ma,” Auntie Hes said. “But I did mean the hurtin’ part. You gonna talk to me?”

“About what?”

“You know what.”

“Not much to say. He goes to work. He digs his mines. He runs his factories. He crawls into our bed in the middle of the goddamn night and leaves it before I wake up. And then when it’s time for me to go, he finally holds my hand so tight I think that maybe this time he’ll break the deal and make me stay.”

The words tasted bitter in Persephone’s mouth, as truths always did. She wasn’t used to tellin’ it. She and Hades, Ma and Pa, the whole damn lot of them - they lived on half truths and hearsay. Was a whole lot safer that way. 

“Do you want him to?”

“What?”

“Break the deal.”

“Like I have any damn idea what I want.”

There were little wildflowers growing in the grass, and Auntie Hes picked a handful, splitting the stems and weaving them together. Persephone watched her hands moving, wishing for a bottle of something to take the edge off. She couldn’t just weave wildflowers to quiet her mind. Not anymore. 

“My little brother has always been contrary,” Auntie Hes said, her eyes on her flowers. 

Persephone scoffed, but there wasn’t any heat in it. 

“I don’t reckon contrary is such a bad thing though, when you look at Zeus and Pozzy, huh?”

The evening sun was like a warm bath and Persephone rolled over onto her back and closed her eyes. 

“You don’t wanna hear and it’s fine. I’m not gonna defend him cos Gaia knows he’s not perfect, and you love him anyway. I don’t have to tell you a single thing about him.”

For someone who’d never let another touch her, let alone love her, Auntie Hes was like a dart in the eye at a hundred paces when it came to lovin’. Precision to make a marksman weep with envy.

“I’m sure you’re workin’ up to somethin’, so why don’t you just say it?” Persephone murmured, hands folded over her heart. Like that was gonna stop the needle going in or somethin’. 

Auntie Hes laughed, sweet as sugar. 

“Oh, sweetpea. Did you know that in the war, we used to call him the Wall?”

“Yep. Ma told me.”

“Did she tell you why?”

“Does it matter?”

“Have you ever asked him?”

“He doesn’t talk about the war. You know that.”

Auntie Hes sighed, and there was a whisper as her hands skimmed over the grass, probably picking more of the little flowers to bind together. Persephone should mind that she was doing it. This was her garden, and Auntie Hes was here just picking flowers like she had the right to do it. 

“We called him the Wall because he protected us. He stood in the way, whenever we needed him to. The youngest of us, my little brother, and he put himself between us and them. Every single time. I’ve seen him do things with his bare hands that haunt me at night. All in the name of keepin’ us safe.”

“Possessive. Reckless. You can’t deny that he ain’t.”

“True. Possessive. Reckless. And also, dutiful. Strong. Exceptionally and impossibly brave.”

Tears burned up Persephone’s throat, hot and achy and a surprise too, cos she was so mad that she thought she might explode right there and then. She swallowed them down, her chest burning, and sat up. 

“You think I don’t know all that, huh? You think I don’t know the better qualities of the man I married?”

Gaia above. She was fucking crying. 

“Why can’t he be all those damn things now, to me? Only duty he answers to is the damn factories. What’s the point of a wall if it also keeps out the things you should wanna let in?”

Auntie Hes looked too much like Hades, sometimes, with her silvery hair and steely eyes. 

“Come here,” she said, and Persephone went, crawled into her gentle arms and rested her head in her lap. Auntie Hes wiped her tears away, and put the flower crown she’d made on Persephone’s head. 

“I can’t pretend I have an answer for you,” she said, smoothing Persephone’s curls. “But I do know my brother. Better than anyone except for you, cos you and I are the only ones who ever really cared about him in the way that he deserves.”

“So what do I do? Tie him to the damn bed and force him to talk to me?”

“I don’t know. But I’ve seen him at his very best, and his very worst and all through those times do you know the only thing I was sure of?”

“What?”

“That he loves, deep and painful.The wall’s a front.”

Auntie Hes stroked Persephone’s cheek and pressed a kiss to her forehead. 

“And you can’t deny, sweetpea,” she said, real sad. “That you know all about those.”


	5. Hades

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Conversations in the dark are always easier.

Persephone wasn’t sure what woke her that one particular night. It wasn’t the factories. Not since the boy had turned the world upside down and the work shut down at night so the shades could rest. 

It wasn’t the quiet that woke her either. She was well used to that up top.

She lay on her back and listened, but there was a whole lot of nothing. Nothing, so she rolled over and closed her eyes. Then there was a groan, and Hades gave a great twitch behind her, so hard she thought he’d fall off the bed.

“Hey,” Persephone said, reaching for the light. “Hades.”

His teeth were bared when she sat up to look at him, lips curled back, and one heavy eyebrow twitching. Almost peaceful, save for the moan rumbling in his throat, almost the keen of an animal in pain. She’d heard a fox die once, torn up by dogs that had run it into the ground, and Hades sounded just like it. 

Was he - well, surely no one could live so long as her man had and not have dreams. Gaia knew she did. But - she’d never seen this before, never heard that noise come out of him. She’d chased off those dogs before she stroked that fox’s head, a gentle touch. Then broke his neck clean in half. Merciful. The goddess of life and she’d taken it that time, rather than leave the beast in pain. She never left anything hurting if she could help it. She was trying to extend that kindness to her husband lately. 

“Hades, wake up!” she said, shaking him. “C’mon.”

He jerked awake and sat up so quickly that she had to put a hand around his arm to keep him in the bed.

“What - what’s happenin’?”

His voice was rough, like he’d swallowed grit.

“You were dreamin’,” she said gently, running a hand over his chest. “Sounded real upset.”

He shivered. 

“Oh. Yeah. That - it happens. It’s been a while.”

Persephone knew that tone, heard it enough over the years, and tightened her grip before he could slip out of the bed. There’d been too much running.

“Ah ah. What were you dreamin’ of?”

In the half shadow, his eyes looked black, till he turned them on her. Big and dewy, eyes that didn’t, and never did, belong to the god of the underworld. Never been anything dark in ‘em, least not when he looked at her. Warmth, on a man who seemed so cold. 

“I don’t recall.”

She knew that tone too.

“Don’t lie, lover. You can tell me.” She hesitated. _In for a penny._ “You can tell me anythin’.”

His fingers tightened around hers, and the ghost of a smile crossed his face. 

“What if it was about you? Would you want to know then?”

“Sure,” she said, swallowing down the bitter pill of goddamn curiosity. “We owe each other.”

“It ain’t you,” he sighed. “Just some old memories. They come and go.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Not in particular.”

That might once have made her insides boil up, temper spilling over that he’d just shut her out like that. But Gaia, she was trying and so was he. So she nodded. 

“Alright. Let me get the light.”

If he was surprised that she gave in so easy, he didn’t say a word about it. But she heard the sigh as he lay back down, felt the bed shift as he tried to get comfy. 

“C’mere,” she said, reaching out in the dark, tugging at him till he was resting his head on her breast. She stroked her fingers through his thick hair, down his cheek and back up. He shivered, pressed his face closer. These little touches had been missing for a long time between them and he was still getting used to them again. Truth was, so was she, but she’d always been more touchy and it was real easy to go back to how it used to be when he was willing to rest all quiet in her arms.

“I’m not tryna’...hide from you, lover,” Hades murmured. “Not - it’s just - I ain’t proud of what I did.”

“S’okay. You ain’t gotta tell me.”

A breath. Two breaths. Three. And then -

“I never told you about the war. Figured you’d know it all anyway.”

“I know enough to know why you don’t tell me anythin’.”

He chuckled, low in his throat. 

“Knew you’d have a smart answer. What’s Hestia been sayin’ about it?”

“The Wall. I know that bit. She said you were real brave, real strong. Loyal.”

Persephone didn’t need to see his face to know he was blushing - she could feel his ear burning against her skin. 

“Knew she’d fill your head with nonsense. Sure didn’t feel brave at the time.”

“What do you see when you dream?”

“Fire,” he said. “Forests and fields burning. Animals, cryin’ out. I watched - I once saw a wave of fire across the sky and a whole flock of little birds caught up in it, they just fell to the earth. Feathers all burnt up. You don’t forget that smell. Was no reason for it, mind. Just because they could. Wanted to show us what they could do.”

He was tense in her arms, his voice barely a whisper, but Gaia above, he was talking. _He was talking._

“They were cruel for the sake of cruelty. You think your father is bad now, you never met a Titan. I did what I had to do. There’s blood on my hands, lover,” he said, fingers curling around her waist. “Never can seem to wash it off. Shines golden in the right light.”

_He was never pleased with his work,_ Prometheus had said once. _Maybe he’s soft._

There were a lot worse things to be than soft. 

“I’m sorry it’s still chasin’ you now.” Persephone murmured, pressing her lips to his forehead. “Not right that you should dream of it.”

“Might be my punishment for winnin’,” he said. “If this is winnin’. Not so bad, as a rule, but when you hear ‘em screamin’ down in the pit. Well, gets under your skin. After a while. Doubt my brothers lose sleep at night.”

“You’re not a monster, lover. Doubt you ever were, even in the worst days.” 

A tiny breath that might, by a less generous person, be called a sob. He pressed his face closer, like he was a babe and she his ma. Well, if that was what he needed. 

“You sleep now,” she said. “I’ll be here. I promise.”


End file.
